


Older Women Are Like Antivan Leather

by WickedHeadache



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Age Difference, Drunkenness, F/F, Fluff, Kissing, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Wynne is 49, also shale describes wynne as 'mage past her prime' and i think that's so sexy of her, dragon age just loves treating women over 30 like unattractive hags, in the game i mean, this is canon, you can google it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedHeadache/pseuds/WickedHeadache
Summary: After an embarrassing drunken incident reveals too much about the Warden's feelings for Wynne, she is shocked to find that Wynne's thoughts about the Warden aren't as innocent and pure as they seem to be.
Relationships: Female Warden/Wynne (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Older Women Are Like Antivan Leather

**Author's Note:**

> sooo i might be a bit in love with Wynne and I want my Warden to date her so bad (same for morri, she shOULD BE BI) 
> 
> There's no Warden/Wynne fics and I get why but it's seriously annoying me. I'm crazy frustrated and procrastinating on writing my other WIPs so what better time to write this mess than now????
> 
> If I use any idioms that could not belong to the DAO universe, sorry, i don't have the energy to do some research, but I think I did okay.
> 
> Also I wrote a purposely vague Warden. All that matters about her is that she is female and that she is about 21, give or take. I honestly don't know how old the Warden is supposed to be in canon.

They make a stop at a small town. Quaint little place, very poor. Most of them spend their time at the tavern, and the Warden does her best attempt at drowning herself in ale. Maker knows she needs it.

Oghren chuckles as he chugs down ale along with her. Alistair seems amused by the whole thing, sitting next to Wynne and Leliana, and stays away from the stuff. Wynne is sipping from a glass of wine. The Warden notes that she looks weary of something. Zevran is patting her back and pushing another full glass her way.

“You always look so very tense, my dear Warden,” he says with a grin that fools no one. He is harmless, though. Mostly.

“Well, I think you should slow down,” Leliana jumps into the seat next to Zevran. She laughs. “You're looking- eh... funny.”

Which is Leliana's way of telling her she look like shit. 

“I'm fine!” She insists, her words slurring a little. Okay, maybe she's not so fine. But she's having fun for once!

She catches Sten at her back muttering to Wynne, “Is there any purpose to this? The Warden must be fit for battle at any given moment.” 

That makes her giggle to herself. There are six more of them, so she thinks they can hold their own without her, for once.

She gives both Alistair and Zevran a loud kiss on their cheeks that leaves Alistair all red and mottled and Zevran cackling gleefully. She hugs the side of a rattled Morrigan, who was just leaning against the wall away from all the activity. The Warden is pleased to note that Morrigan does not push her away — she's going soft, she muses slyly to herself. She pulls Leliana by the hand and dances with her. The bard smiles wide and indulgently as she plays along, singing aloud gently, for there is no music in the tavern.

The Warden thinks, idly, that she's going to hate herself in the morning.

Then she asks for more ale.

She catches Wynne's gaze at some point. She sees her shaking her head fondly at her antics and wonders whether Wynne thinks she's behaving like a child. The Warden hopes she looks like an endearing child, at the very least. She flutters her lashes innocently at the older woman. Wynne is not looking at her, luckily, because that did not turn out as graceful as it should've.

Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. It's as good a sign as any that she needs another drink. She's always been a happy, uncaring drunk, and she'll be damned if she doesn't take advantage of the one chance she's got to shut her thoughts out for a night.

And hey, as long as they don't suddenly get ambushed by darkspawn, she is entitled to this.

She doesn't know how she ends up kissing her, however.

The minutes leading up to it are blurry in her mind. She leaves the tavern, finding Wynne standing outside. The woman claims to have needed flesh air and she believes her. Wynne says something to her, something that has no form or coherence to her, and then she is pulling Wynne down by her robes and into a kiss.

Wynne yelps in surprise, but the Warden pays no mind to it as her ears are ringing with white noise. Her head doesn't feel functional right now. She's kissing Wynne. _Why_ is she kissing Wynne? Sure, the woman is kind and smart and so very strong that the Warden feels like she can't breathe at times. And when her mind wanders and finds itself considering fantasies that involve lovely mages with even lovelier smiles, she is always compelled to cradle the woman's cheeks between her hands and kiss her, but—

She is not sure what her point is now, but it's important. She thinks.

Wynne is not moving, however. Her brain may be working slowly, but she still can take a hint. She staggers backwards as she breaks the kiss, breathless. Wynne's expression is a mix of disbelief and horror that tells her all that she needs to know about what Wynne's feelings are, and she has to get away _now_.

“I- I'm sorry,” she stammers.

She closes her eyes and counts to three inwardly as she grimaces. _Stupid, stupid, stupid girl_. As she flees back inside she swears to herself to never bring the subject of this dreadful night to Wynne and to never allow Wynne to even attempt to question her about it.

* * *

The next day her head is pounding from the pain, her mouth tastes like death and she can't look at Wynne in the eyes again. She can sense the other woman's gaze on her, examining her every movement and probably trying to figure out what was going through the Warden's head the night before. 

Leliana laughs when she sees her getting out of her tent, endeared more than anything. She briefly recalls hearing her sing, but the memory is too blurry for her to think too much of it. 

“So glad my suffering is amusing to you,” she mutters to her.

She still feels the eyes of a certain mage on her, and she blushes a little at the thought of what Wynne must think of her. There is no way Wynne is interested in some kid that makes a move while drunk. She thinks Wynne might have even called her ‘child’ once, and winces.

“What's on your mind?” Leliana asks her later into the day. “You've been quieter than usual.”

“Nothing much,” she shrugs, and her gaze flickers to Wynne for the first time. Thankfully, the woman is focused on something else.

“Hmm,” Leliana narrows her eyes skeptically but doesn't press.

Once Leliana is distracted enough, the Warden allows herself to sigh in relief. If there is any conversation that will be painful to have, it would be explaining to Leliana how badly she messed up last night. 

Her infatuation with Wynne is something she was never going to act on. She is always a little awestruck around Wynne, caught in the way she moves and speaks and snarks, but just because she is attracted to her it doesn't mean she has planned to do anything about it.

“Wynne!” Alistair is raising his voice behind her startles her. She turns her head and spots him looking very frustrated. Wynne seems lost. “What is up with you? I had to call you five times.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Wynne shakes her head. “I seem to be distracted today.”

“I'll say,” Alistair remarks.

But Wynne's attention is elsewhere again. As if subconsciously, she looks over her shoulder to where the Warden is sitting. Their gazes meet, and she is frozen. Wynne's expression is challenging, daring her to address the elephant in the room.

“Wynne!” Alistair's voice has turned into a whine. “What is so interesting that you're not listening to me? Did you find someone better to make fun of?”

“Don't worry. You're still my favorite person to mock,” she responds in a sickly sweet voice.

“Then what, did you get a boyfriend or something?” Alistair says, evidently joking. Wynne's cheeks turn pink anyway, her eyes widening in consternation. “No! Who is it? Someone at Redcliff? One of the walking dead?”

Wynne huffs, aggravated. For once, Alistair is managing to get her flustered. “Very funny. And no, I'm too old for boyfriends, I'm afraid.”

“Aw, don't say that. I'm sure there's some old man out there right for you.”

Even as she purses her lips, unimpressed, Wynne eyes the Warden, who is now pointedly looking away. Then, she shakes her head and chastises herself inwardly. “Well, that's all good but I like my life just the way it is. What did you want to tell me?”

The Warden tunes out the rest of the (pretty unimportant) conversation about Alistair's hygiene habits. It's not until she sighs and looks up that she notices Leliana has been staring at her. She has this look of open curiosity in her face that makes her frown with wariness.

“What?”

“What was _that_?”

“Sorry?”

“I have spent too much of my life around people with secrets to not notice when somebody's trying to hide something.”

“I'm not trying to hide anything,” she says defensively.

“Oh, really? Then why are you listening in on Alistair's conversations?”

The Warden pauses, open-mouthed. Leliana tends to be a more perceptive being than that. In this case she can use it to her advantage.

“Because I'm madly in love with him and want to know everything about his dirty socks.”

Leliana blinks at her in shock before she catches up to her deadpan expression. She laughs. “You had me fooled there for a second.”

She grins, and tries not to look relieved. Her peace does not last long, for a few seconds later she hears footsteps approaching them.

“Leliana, could you please give the Warden and I some privacy?” Wynne's voice reaches her from her back. She closes her eyes in defeat. So much for avoidance.

“Oh. Of course,” she says, eyeing the Warden as she rises and walks away.

Once she is out of sight, the Warden allows herself to look up at Wynne, who seems concerned. The woman stands with her hands behind her back, taking half a step toward her. Then she thinks better of it and sits down where Leliana used to be, in front of her, but at a reasonable distance.

“I thought we should have a conversation,” Wynne tells her.

“I don't have anything to talk about,” she shoots her her most innocent look.

Wynne exhales, frustrated. “I learned a long time ago that leaving matters unsolved only leads to regrets. I'm not going to force you, but I think we should have a discussion about what happened, like civilized beings.”

She feels her heart pounding loudly in her chest and a blush growing from her neck. If she talks about it, she'll end up embarrassing herself, she knows. Her mind goes to a lot of places when thinking about Wynne. Sometimes, it's just plain admiration that plagues her thoughts, which is safe and nice. But in occasion, she is caught in how beautiful Wynne is and how she wishes she would smile more often, because when she does, she glows in a way that could compete with the sun.

It's just that Wynne is so nice and warm and fierce that the Warden feels herself going a little hot on the face every time she spots her practicing her magic, or even when she is reprimanding Alistair for trying to get his wounds infected. She seems like the kind of person that, if they cared about you, they would show it constantly.

And yes, she agrees with Zevran, Wynne definitely has a magical bosom.

“I take it by the fact that you can barely look at me in the eye that you are ashamed of your actions,” Wynne continues, and the Warden keeps silent. “I see where you're coming from, but I would hate to lose your friendship over this.”

“You don't care about... _what I did_?” she adds in a quieter voice.

“Well, it was certainly unexpected, but-” Wynne stops, shifting on her seat. It's a nervous gesture that she has never seen on her before and it only serves to alarm her. “I don't think you need the pressure of-”

“Look, Wynne,” she stops her before the conversation gets more painful. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“I won't do... that again. You have enough with Zevran and Oghren acting like you're a piece of meat. You deserve better than that. Now can we stop talking about this?” She shoots her a begging look.

Wynne narrows her eyes. “I never said that you made me uncomfortable, dear, or that your attention is unwanted, for that matter.”

Her eyes widens, and she's pretty sure she has stopped breathing. “Isn't it?”

“Not at all,” she replies, and does her eyes wander down the Warden's body? “But maybe we should discuss this another time, hmm? When you're in more of a... sharing mood.”

As the Warden stares at her, jaw dropped, Wynne stands up and gives her one last unreadable look before walking away.

* * *

“Take notes, my friend,” Zevran tells Alistair, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Alistair grumbles in annoyance. “I'm about to impart an important lesson to your virginal ears.”

The Warden snickers to herself, covering her mouth with a hand.

“Can you not?” Alistair snaps.

Zevran, predictably, ignores him. “When you're trying to please a woman — or man, whatever gets you going-”

“Oh, Maker, please stop talking!”

“You're never going to learn the intricacies of love-making if you never talk about it! Isn't there a lovely lady you wish to charm?”

“Someone kill me now.”

“Not all women appreciate the same technics. For instance, Leliana is definitely the kind to find pleasure in slow, passionate love-making,” Zevran explains as Alistair's face gets redder. Wynne just happens to walk past where they are sitting, narrowing her eyes at them. Zevran grins mischievously. “Wynne, however-”

“I'm not listening!” He shouts and covers his ears.

Wynne stops on her tracks.

“-under all of those stuffy robes, there is a wild animal laying in wait, ready to attack the moment it is released-”

“So gross.”

“-because of this, you see, older women are special. Different. They have experience, and flavor. Older women are like Antivan leather,” Zevran declares loudly. “Once you try it out, all the other kinds of leather can't compare.”

The Warden, as she blushes brightly, has to hold back laughter. “I don't think that makes a lot of sense, Zevran.”

“You know what I mean,” Zevran waves a hand at her.

When her gaze flickers toward Wynne, she spots her clenching her fists, an infuriated look on her face. Her whole body twitches, as if she is resisting the urge to face Zevran, before she shakes her head to herself and storms off.

She gives Zevran a look. “She's probably going to kill you, you realize that?”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” he chuckles.

The Warden regards with an impressed expression, shoulders shaking in amusement. “You legend of a man,” she breathes out. “I'm not cleaning your wounds when all of this goes down.”

Alistair is still covering his ears and looking at Zevran like he is one sick man. She lingers around them for a few more minutes, enjoying the growing mortification in Alistair's face as Zevran continues to advise him on his love life. Then she slips away and into the woods, where Wynne has disappeared to.

She hasn't really talked to Wynne since their last discussion, especially because she isn't completely certain that she didn't hallucinate the whole thing. She feels that she _needs_ to find her now, that she should speak to her, and while she has some remaining shame from her drunken mistake, it's not strong enough for her to keep avoiding Wynne.

She finds her leaning against a tree, looking up at the sky through the branches and green leaves. She treads slowly toward Wynne until she's standing four feet away from her. Wynne glances at her, lips quirking slightly, and she takes this as a good sign.

“Don't mind Zevran, he is just an idiot,” she grins awkwardly.

“I am well aware,” Wynne replies. “Is there something you want?”

The Warden stares, because there are plenty of things she wants from Wynne and they all seem possible after Wynne admitted her attention is very much wanted by her. She swallows. “Just to talk,” she says. Her voice feels small.

Wynne hums in response, nodding. After a moment of silence, she says suddenly, “I have a question for you, my dear.”

“Oh?” She steps closer to the woman until she's standing at her side. Wynne does not move. “Ask away.”

“I recall a talk we had about what being a Grey Warden means to you,” Wynne says. “I was wondering, if you could go back and make different choices, would you prefer to live a quieter life than you have now?

She doesn't even have to think about it. “Yes,” she says flatly. 

Wynne looks at her in surprise, like she expected something different from her. She tears her gaze away from her, focusing on the sky again. A pensive frown has appeared between her brows and for one insane moment the Warden actually believes Wynne is not pleased with her answer.

“You're so young, and yet you have met so much pain” Wynne speaks up again. “I can only wish you a future of healing and fulfilment.”

The Warden smiles absent-mindedly as she bumps her shoulder with Wynne's. “The same goes to you.”

Wynne laughs at that. “I've had enough fulfilment for a lifetime, I'm afraid. The future is for the young, like you, my dear.”

“As far as I can tell, you've yet to die,” she teases. She turns her head and tries to catch Wynne's gaze, unsuccessfully. The woman seems fixed on looking elsewhere.

She doesn't understand why Wynne is so certain death is awaiting her. Most of the old ladies the Warden has met aren't nearly as unstoppable in the battlefield as Wynne is. Nevertheless, she doubts Wynne truly has nothing left to experience. Otherwise, she wouldn't have joined her to fight the Blight.

“You have been staring at me for an entire minute now,” Wynne eyes her and finally meets her gaze. “Either I've suddenly become an interesting person or there's something you fear to tell me. What is troubling you?”

The Warden hesitates, wondering whether she would be crossing an unspoken boundary. Wynne seems to be open to speak about everything, almost using her life as one big lecture to impart. She doubts she will be offended.

“Wynne, have you ever been in love?” She asks, eyes a little too wide and bright for her tastes. She does not wish for Wynne to see her someone even younger and more inexperienced than she already is.

“My, what a big question,” Wynne looks into her eyes, caught off guard. “I have had my fair share of entanglements in my time, if you must know.”

A series of illicit images come to mind, unbidden. Wynne always puts on this motherly old woman facade to hide the fact that she is, as socially unacceptable as it is, a sexual being. The Warden blushes, hoping Wynne can't notice in the dark, and shakes those thoughts away.

“T-that's good to know,” she shrieks a little, and quickly clears her throat. Wynne seems amused. She narrows her eyes. “You didn't answer my question, though.”

“I have been in love, once,” she indulged her, but does not bother to elaborate. “Why so curious?”

“Maybe I just want to learn more about you,” she tries her best at sounding nonchalant. She knows she fails when Wynne raises one brow. “Is that wrong?”

“Not at all. It's been a while since someone's taken such an interest in these old bones.”

“Well, that's their loss,” she remarks. Her eyes flicker across the line of Wynne's jaw and the good-natured quirk of her lips. “So you have enjoyed the company of many people. Is that common in the Circle?”

“It is common for some mages, it might not be for others.”

“And have you enjoyed the company of other women as well?” She asks. Her lips are dry. She resists the urge to lick them. Does she look nervous? She feels nervous. She hopes Wynne can't tell.

Wynne, however, has interpreted her question in exactly all the wrong ways. “Is this about you and Leliana?”

“Me and Leliana?” She gapes.

“I've seen the way you look at each other. It's hard to miss.”

“But- we don't look at each other. In _any_ way,” she rushes to explain.

“Of course,” Wynne smirks.

“I mean it. Leliana and I are just good friends.”

“Oh, I have had enough of those to know what that means.”

And the Warden can't even begin to process the implications of that particular statement. She is too focused on realizing what Wynne is trying to do. She is behaving like a supporting friend. Wynne is pretending that she has never kissed her and that the Warden has never shown any interest in her. It's frustrating. Is this how Wynne felt the other day?

“And am I one of these _friends_?” She retorts, being deliberately suggestive.

It's enough to make Wynne speechless. “I-”

Feeling a rush of determination through her body, the Warden lifts a hand to Wynne's cheek. “I'm not interested in Leliana.”

It could be her imagination, but she thinks she sees Wynne glancing down to her lips. “It looks like you two are getting close,” she tells her. The Warden shakes her head in denial.

“Did you mean what you said the other day? About you wanting my attention?” She asks in a whisper as she leans closer forward. “Because if you did, you should know I crave for your attention as well. Constantly, as a matter of fact.”

“Careful,” Wynne warns her, even as she doesn't pull away. She actually seems to be enjoying this. “You are playing with fire, young lady.”

“I don't care.”

“You will when you wake to a woman that reminds you of your grandmother in your bed.”

“You underestimate how much I care for you,” she tells her. “And how beautiful you are.”

Before Wynne can argue again, she closes the distance between them and pulls her into a kiss, cradling both of her cheeks in her hands. This time, however, Wynne grasps the back of her head and draws her closer. She is responding with enthusiasm, and it makes her heart skip a beat. She deepens the kiss eagerly. It prompts Wynne to whimper against her mouth.

So she _does_ want her. A smile stretches her lips.

When she drifts back, a warm feeling overwhelming her chest, Wynne is looking at her oddly. It is not a displeased expression, but one with a mix of curiosity and awe. Wynne takes a deep breath.

“What is it?” The Warden asks her.

“Has your eyesight suffered any injuries lately?”

The question is unexpected and out of place, and laugher surges from her throat. “What?” She shakes her head with a confused smile.

“Alright then,” Wynne nods to herself, and then she's grabbing the Warden's head with both hands and kissing her hard.

* * *

Later that night, as she lets Wynne pulls her by the hand and follows her into her tent, she catches Zevran's eye, who is on night watch duty. He gapes at them, eyes wide and gleaming with amazement. A big manic smile is growing from his lips. He looks impressed.

Right before she is about to tuck her head inside the tent, she winks at him. Then the tent is closed and Wynne's lips are all over her. She's giggling with delight, and she discovers that, yes, Wynne's bosom is indeed magical.

She dares to tell her so and receives a playful smack across her ass. Wynne's got a mischievous glint in her eyes, like she has knowledge of all her secrets and is going to take advantage of them. It is an attractive look on her, she thinks.

As Wynne kisses her neck and her hands begin to explore her curves, she comes to the realization that, if she manages to keep quiet for the rest of the night, it will likely be a miracle.


End file.
